He has grown ashen-grey, and the other hand resting on the back of the chair is visibly trembling.
"Nothing shall go wrong with her," says he, in a curious tone.
Hardinge regards him keenly.

Is this pallor, this unmistakable trepidation, caused only by his dislike to hear his brother's real character exposed?
"Well, I have told you," says he coldly.
"It is a mistake," says the professor.

"He would not dare to approach a young, innocent girl.

The most honorable proposal such a man as he could make to her would be basely dishonorable." "Ah! you see it in that light too," says Hardinge, with a touch of relief.

"My dear fellow, it is hard for me to discuss him with you, but yet I fear it must be done.